by West, Dahlia
Jonah threaded through the pool tables and chairs like a snake homing in on its target. One asshole, rubbernecking at the near-fight, didn’t get out of his way fast enough. Jonah grabbed his shirt and flung him to the side. He ricocheted off the table next to them. Beer and curses flew everywhere.
“Hey!” he shouted. “What the f—?”
Jonah didn’t stop moving, but he slowed long enough to fix his sharp gaze at the man who lay sprawled on the ground. Something in his eyes must have belied his inner rage because the man’s face softened and his fists uncurled, splaying fat sausage fingers.
“My bad,” he said quietly. “Didn’t see you.”
Jonah kept moving toward the dance floor where a beer-bellied man in a John Deere cap had grabbed Sienna by the arm. His mouth lay open in a lazy, gap-toothed smile. Jonah’s hand tightened into a fist, prepared to relieve the man of the rest of his teeth in less than twenty seconds. He didn’t bother to count off the actual time. His long strides brought him to the center of the dance floor soon enough.
The man pulled Sienna close and ground his cock into her pelvis in a lurid move that might have been what passed for dancing among rednecks and paraplegics.
Jonah had meant to yell at the asshole, to tell him to get the fuck away from her. What came out of his throat, though, was something between a primal scream and a war cry.
People surged away from him, giving him an extra-wide berth.
The redneck heard the noise and just barely turned in time. His mouth and nose came into Jonah’s view almost in slow motion. In other, calmer, circumstances, Jonah would never have gone for a sucker-punch. But the sight of Sienna, his Sienna, being manhandled had caused him to lose any sense of fair play and decency that Chappie had instilled in him.
Jonah’s arm cocked back. Tension flared his biceps and tightened his shoulder. He unleashed a straight jab that caught the man squarely on the jaw. The crack was loud enough to rival the relentless thud of the jukebox’s bass.
Someone screamed.
John Deere stumbled back, but Jonah grabbed his wrist to keep him from falling onto the floor. He yanked the man back by his sleeve, spinning him as he did, forcing the man’s body to turn, fully frontal. Jonah’s fist shot out once more, this time head on.
Blood and bone, screaming and swearing. Jonah was aware and somehow unaware of all of it. Like it was a movie on a screen in front of him instead of something he’d just done.
John Deere did go flying across the dance floor, and this time Jonah lost track of him as the crowd closed in between them. He turned, fight abandoned, but didn’t see Sienna. He scanned the crowd until he caught a glimpse of her long dark hair flying as she forced her way toward the other side of the bar.
Anger rose up renewed and he charged after her. If she thought she could outrun him, she was badly mistaken. The crowd parted for Jonah in a way that it wouldn’t for a tiny little teenage girl and within seconds he’d caught up to her, trying to duck into the small hallway that led to the bathrooms.
“What are you doing here?” he called after her.
Startled, she turned and stared at him.
The red haze of anger began to recede from his vision and he felt his own rough edges smoothing out inside him, as they did whenever she was around.
What was she doing here? How had she even gotten in? Was she hurt? Had she been caught in that scuffle back there?
So many questions churned in his head that it was hard to just pluck one from the ether and ask it. He settled for injuries. He had to know she was okay.
Before Jonah could ask, though, there was movement behind her. From deeper into the small hallway, a guy emerged. Where John Deere was fat and slow, this guy was lean and hard and almost Jonah’s height. He wasn’t quite as ripped as Jonah, but it was clear he’d spent time in the gym.
Absurdly, the guy reached for Sienna, intending to take her arm.
The warrior’s bellow that had erupted before turned into something darker, more menacing. John Deere was not, and never could have been, mistaken for Sienna’s boyfriend. But this guy might be. And that thought did things to Jonah, deep in the tangled snarl of his lizard brain, the part he tried so hard to tame and channel and chain for the world’s benefit as well as his own.
Jonah’s voice was smooth, liquid, and approximately the same temperature as molten lava. “You fucking touch her and I’ll start with breaking your arm.”
The guy did pause. Jonah had to acknowledge that. But he was either drunk or stupid or both because he didn’t back down.
Suddenly, a familiar voice rang out and someone stepped into Jonah’s rage-induced tunnel vision.
Ava was breathless and clearly agitated. “Wait! Jonah, just wait a minute!”
“Jonah?” said the guy who’d reached for Sienna just seconds ago.
Jonah hesitated, now wholly unsure what the fuck was happening here. He hadn’t even noticed her presence. “Ava? Jesus! What the hell?”
The guy’s hand snaked around Ava’s waist and he pulled her closer to him, away from Jonah. That reignited some of Jonah’s anger. Whoever this guy was, he was taking far too many liberties with the women Jonah loved.
“Get your hands off her,” Jonah said through clenched teeth.
Unbelievably, the guy challenged him with a dark, steady gaze. “You can’t stake a claim on both of them. I’m still deciding whether or not I’m going to let you have that one,” he said, indicating Sienna.
Suicidal as it was to try to take Sienna from him, the guy was actually closer to Ava. And still touching her. “Get your fucking hands off my sister!”
The guy’s face crumpled, clearly surprised. “Wait, what? Sister? Seriously? This is your sister?” He turned his head to Sienna. “Is she your sister, too?”
Sienna glared at them. “I might as well be.”
Her words hit harder than any punch Jonah had ever received, but this wasn’t the time to address her feelings. Instead, he turned to the guy. “She’s seventeen.”
This guy wasn’t going to escape a beating from Jonah, no matter what, for bringing the girls to a bar where they so clearly didn’t belong. He was about to push Ava out of the way, in fact, and start swinging, when the guy’s face sharpened. He was clearly pissed off now. But instead of directing it at Jonah, he turned it on Ava.
“Shit,” he muttered.
“Not me!” Ava cried. “I’m eighteen!”
The guy wasn’t placated, though. “You said you were twenty-one.”
Ava gaped at him, scrambling for a rebuttal. “I—”
“HEY!”
Before Jonah could turn his little sister over his knee, he looked back to see John Deere advancing on them. His denim shirt was as tattered as his bloody face. He’d picked up some friends, though, one on each side of him. Jonah glowered. He didn’t have time for this. He had to get Sienna home.
From behind him, Ava’s…friend…said, “Your handiwork, hermano?”
Jonah nodded. “There was only the one, though. Guess they multiply when they get blood on them.”
Ava’s friend reached out and pulled Sienna back toward the exit. This time Jonah didn’t argue. She needed to get out of here and he needed to prepare for the coming fisticuffs.
The guy didn’t seem to be leaving, though. Instead, he said, “You take the one in the middle, then. I’ll take the other two.”
Jonah snorted but didn’t take his eyes off the Three Musketeers. “You’re pretty cocky.”
“Not the first time I’ve heard that.”
Ava appeared on Jonah’s left, spoiling for a fight. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she told them both. “You take the two on the left. I’ll take the third one.”
Jonah wasn’t going to argue, but her friend did. “Not happening,” he told her matter-of-factly.
Jonah smiled to himself. They must not know each other very well.
“You don’t get a say,” Ava argued.
“Muñeca, he outweighs you by about fifty po
unds. Out the back door. Now.”
“Listen—” she argued.
Jonah had heard enough. Things were about to get serious. “Ava,” he snapped. “Take Sienna out of here.”
His sister hesitated, but then she nodded. Ava might have also been young, dumb, and fucking hell she’d better not be full of this dude’s cum, but Ava, like Jonah, always made Sienna her priority. “Okay. Let’s go. Good luck.”
“Don’t worry, muñeca. I don’t intend to let them win.”
Jonah didn’t know what he meant by that, but he knew it would irritate Ava, and that was always fun.
The trio was almost upon them now. Jonah let his body relax, made his muscles fluid and ready for anything.
“Can you handle this?” Ava’s guy asked.
Jonah snorted. “Can you?”
“I can. And I don’t need a chick for backup. You always let your sister fight with you?”
Jonah shrugged. “Never happened before, but… Ava does what she wants. You either get out of the way or—”
“Get run over?”
Jonah nodded. “Something like that.”
“I’m Emilio, by the way.”
Jonah merely grunted in response.
And then it was show time.
Jonah held back, waiting for the trio to get closer. It probably would have worked better if Emilio had been in on the plan. The overconfident Mexican surged forward, arm cocked from the second he’d started to move. The punch he delivered to the face of the man closest to him sent a resounding smack reverberating off the walls.
As the man stumbled back, clawing at his face, Emilio spun and kicked John Deere in the stomach.
Jonah was impressed. Perhaps the guy was just…confident.
The third guy stepped back, instantly retreating. Jonah would have been happy to just let him go until he saw the man wasn’t running, he was merely regrouping. His hand snaked into his jeans pocket and came out with a blade.
Emilio didn’t see it though, blocked as his view was by the man’s thigh. He turned, ready to take him on, but Jonah exploded out onto the dance floor. “EMILIO!” he bellowed.
And though they’d only just met, Emilio seemed to sense that Jonah could be trusted. He backed off, out of reach, glancing back at Jonah with a questioning look.
Jonah made it to the man in three strides, grabbed the wrist that was holding the knife, and twisted it viciously. He delivered a punch not to the face but to the man’s dick, since he was one anyway, and there were no rules in this particular place.
The blade skittered across the floor, well out of reach.
Jonah grabbed him by the hair and rammed his knee into the man’s face. Blood sprayed and he fell back onto the wooden floor, writhing in pain.
A few feet away, Emilio was raining down blows on John Deere’s only remaining friend in the world. Everyone else had backed up, entirely off the dance floor, crowding into small groups along the edges.
John Deere wasn’t sure whether to help his friend or to go after Jonah, so Jonah made the choice for him. He grabbed the man by the arm, pivoted, and threw him into a nearby table. He crashed into it, sending bottles and glasses spinning in all directions as his own ass hit the floor. He glared up at Jonah and then snatched a beer bottle that was rolling past. He smacked the end on the edge of the table above him, sending glass shards flying. His grip tightened on the neck as he waved the freshly cut glass at Jonah. Just before he managed to pull himself to his feet, a shotgun racked, sounding like the crack of a whip.
Everyone froze.
The tall, blond bartender pointed the business end at John Deere, steady as steel. “Drop it,” she said firmly.
He took a minute to think about it, which was either an indication of how drunk he was or how stupid. Finally, he let it go and staggered to his feet.
The blonde stepped back, giving him some space, but she didn’t lower the gun.
John Deere and his two friends slunk to the door with the blonde in pursuit. “If I see you again,” she called after them, “you’re going to be digging buck shot out of your asses.”
Jonah looked at Emilio, eyebrows raised. “Is she going to come back and shoot us?”
Emilio grinned. “Nah. I mean, probably not.”
The blonde turned to them, shouldered the shotgun, and stomped back over. The heels of her boots clipped sharply on the wooden dance floor. She stopped in front of the two of them, mouth tight, eyes tighter. “What the hell was that?” she demanded.
“Oh, come on, Maria!” Emilio cried. “They started it!”
Maria blew a stray hair out of her face and glared at the cocky Mexican. “Rule number one,” she snapped. “Don’t fight inside the bar!”
Emilio smirked at her. Which Jonah thought might be a risky proposition given that she was holding a shotgun. “I thought rule number one was, ‘Don’t stick your dick in crazy!’” he told her.
Maria rolled her eyes at him, turned on her boot heel, and stalked back toward the bar.
Emilio looked at Jonah. “Speaking of rule number one. Is your sister…?”
Jonah smiled. “Crazy? No. Ava’s not crazy. But she is special. And she requires special handling.”
Emilio nodded. “Yeah, I guess I could see that. I’ve never met a girl like her. The way she rides that bike…” He whistled. “Impressive.”
Jonah raised an eyebrow, curious now. “Where’d you meet her?”
Emilio hesitated and then shrugged. “Around. I have a bike, too.”
Jonah made a non-committal grunt. He’d heard whispers of an underground racing circuit. It was tempting to kick Ava’s ass for doing something so stupid, but Jonah wasn’t that much of a hypocrite. He had his own secrets to keep. Ava was smart, with a good head on her shoulders, and there was no point in blaming Emilio. Ava could very well have discovered racing on her own. Jonah wouldn’t put it past her.
Jonah looked Emilio up and down, assessing him critically. He was tough, good in a fight, and fuck yeah he was cocky, but maybe that would keep Ava on her toes. Ava could use some special handling by a man strong enough to rein her in. Emilio didn’t need to know that, though. No sense in surrendering the Big Brother card so soon. And he felt the urge to lay down ground rules anyway, especially after tonight.
He turned his gaze on Emilio. “I’m still on the fence about you putting your greasy mechanic hands on my sister, but you touch Sienna again and you’ll be turning wrenches with your feet.”
Emilio was quiet a moment, clearly sizing up Jonah. For a moment, Jonah thought the cocky bastard might actually take a swing at him. Instead, he put out his hand. “Got it.”
Jonah shook it firmly.
Emilio turned Jonah’s hand over, examining it. “My hands may be greasy, but yours are covered in blood, hermano.”
Jonah grunted. “That happens a lot.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
The four of them stepped outside into the raging storm. Lightning crashed every few seconds and rain poured down in torrents, already making huge puddles in the gravel lot. As thunder rumbled overhead, a second sound, nearly drowned out, could just barely be heard.
It was higher pitched, of a different frequency altogether. Lightning flashed again, but this time it was tinted red and blue.
“Shit!” Emilio cried and pulled Jonah back.
The four of them ducked into the alley and pressed themselves up against the brick wall.
“Damn it!” Ava shouted over the storm. “We can’t make it to the car without crossing the road!”
Jonah was coherent enough to know they meant Sienna’s car, which was registered to him at the moment. It’d be swept up in the raid, impounded. But as long as Emilio, Ava, and Sienna got the hell out of this neighborhood, right now, they’d be safe.
Jonah pulled his arms off of Sienna’s and Emilio’s shoulders and braced himself against the wall. “Go!” he ordered.
“Fuck that!” Emilio snapped.
“Get them out of here!” Jon
ah insisted. “If they get caught, they’ll be arrested. So will you. Just run. Stay with them,” he told Emilio. “Make sure they get home okay.”
Emilio frowned and glanced out toward the road. The sirens were getting louder now. There was no time for arguing.
“Just go!” Jonah cried, pushing him. It was a weak shove, though, and didn’t even knock the cocky bastard off balance.
Emilio turned and eyed the back of the alley. “If—”
Just then, a police car rushed past them, cutting off Emilio’s words. The sirens were screaming. Water flew in every direction. But it kept going.
The four of them watched, astonished, as car after car marked RCPD whooshed past. A fire truck, two ambulances, barreled down the two-lane road dodging the spectators’ parked cars that lined the shoulder.
Emilio actually stepped out of the shadows of the alley. He peered to the right, watching the convoy turn and disappear around the corner.
“What the hell was all that?!” Ava shouted.
“In this town?” Emilio replied. “Who the hell knows.” He stared into the rain and relative darkness, squinting. “Maybe something got hit by lightning,” he mused. Then he turned and waved his hand. “Get him to the car,” he told the girls. “Grab his keys first.”
Sienna reached into Jonah’s front pocket and fished out his keys. Under other, happier, circumstances, he would’ve enjoyed that. She passed them to Emilio.
“I’ll get your bike,” he told Jonah. “Where is it?”
Jonah pointed to the dumpster several yards away but glowered at him. “Don’t crack it up.”
The cocky bastard grinned. “Don’t worry. If I do, I can fix it for you. With my greasy mechanic hands.”
Jonah closed his eyes and steadied himself against the wall again. The run for the car would hurt like hell. He needed a minute to prepare for it.
When he felt ready, he pushed off the wall but stumbled. Sienna looked at him fearfully as she tried to keep him upright. Her hair was rain-soaked, her lower lip trembled. “We need to get him to the hospital!”
Jonah could almost feel the stack of bills in his pocket vaporizing as she spoke. The money was the whole point of fighting, but if it would put her mind at ease, he had to accept it. He was a fucking mess, truth be told, and maybe she had a point.